


Wedding Sangria

by holdupyourend



Category: Black Mirror
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdupyourend/pseuds/holdupyourend
Summary: After their post-wedding fight, Yorkie wonders if she'll ever see Kelly again.





	Wedding Sangria

It’s true that Yorkie had spent the past forty years of her life devoid of touch, but it would be wrong to say that she had spent it devoid of sensation. No, to be completely devoid of sensation would actually have been a gift. _Dysesthesia_. It seems like such a cold and obscure word, destined to linger in obscurity in some med school textbook, but it was what the doctors called the electric shocks of pain that she felt in sporadic waves across her body for most of her life; a tragically common side effect of quadriplegia.

Yorkie had spent at least the first decade of her injury convinced that her parents had been right. After all, there was no other explanation, save the punishment of an angry God for her sins, for why she would be cursed to feel nothing – _absolutely nothing_ – but pain for the rest of her life. But years upon years of silently watching the inexplicable tragedies of others in that hospital had soon convinced her that there was simply no logic, Biblical or otherwise, to why suffering visited some people’s lives and not others.

Yes, before San Junipero, Yorkie was certain, in spite of her upbringing, that there was nothing waiting for her beyond this life. And now? She can’t help but find it bitterly ironic that, while she was once plagued with what felt like lightning searing across her skin, it is now the jolts of electricity in a computer server somewhere that has gifted her a second chance.

The idea of a second chance seemed distant to her now, though. She had ruined her first shot at life by opening her big mouth, and now perhaps she’d ruined it again the same way. One week ago this evening, Kelly, the first woman she’d ever loved after a lifetime of loneliness, had all but declared that she never wanted to see her again. Yorkie had barely left her house, a residential home laughably big for one person, since that night. The warmth of the sand on her feet and the smell of salt in the air reminded her too much of the nights she’d spent in Kelly’s arms, overlooking the beach. So instead, she had returned to a room temperature, artificially lit, indoor prison of her own making – except this one was in virtual suburbia, not a hospital room.

Yorkie glances at the clock, in spite of herself. 7:30 pm. Kelly could be in San Junipero now, in god only knows what year, making eyes at someone else. Yet somehow, the idea of Kelly taking someone else to bed is less upsetting to Yorkie than the idea that she might just never come back to San Junipero ever again. Dread gnaws at Yorkie’s stomach as it sinks in that Kelly could even be too sick to return; that she could pass away without Yorkie ever knowing, much less having the chance to say goodbye.

Yorkie is abruptly startled from her melancholy by the sound of the doorbell. Her neighbours are mostly permanent residents, and almost all of them are straight, white, married couples eager to live out the idyllic suburban dreams of the 1980s, rather than the decade’s notorious party scene. She sticks out like a sore thumb in the area, not just because she’s gay and living alone, but because they’ve all chosen to spend eternity reliving their thirties and forties, leaving her as the only twenty-something around. They’re nice enough to her, though – the close-mindedness and conformity of 1980s suburbia has not quite been replicated in this neighbourhood, even if its blandness definitely has.

Yorkie braces herself to turn down yet another community barbeque invitation from a smiling housewife, but opens the door to instead find Kelly, smiling nervously with her hands awkwardly shoved into the pockets of a brightly sequined, neon orange jacket. A few of Yorkie’s neighbours, who by now have surely written her off as a weird recluse, are noticeably peeking their heads out from behind shuttered curtains to try to see why a Jeep Scrambler has come barreling into her driveway.

“Hi.” Yorkie can tell that Kelly is trying to sound as confident as ever, but her voice quivers ever so slightly. “Can I come in?” Yorkie tries to reply, but the words stick in her throat from the surprise of seeing Kelly at her doorstep. She wordlessly nods and shuts the door behind Kelly, ushering her inside and away from the prying eyes of the street.

Kelly looks around Yorkie’s house as she makes her way into the living room, her mouth open slightly in surprise. “This is where you chose to live? I honestly thought they had put your address in wrong when I looked you up tonight. I mean, I figured you probably grew up like this, but I never would’ve taken you for someone who’s nostalgic for this kind of thing.”

Yorkie follows after Kelly, sitting down beside her on one of the couches. “Honestly, I didn’t put a lot of thought into where I wanted to live when they were first setting me up with the trial. I picked this place because my parents had a house like this, and I didn’t know what it was like to live anywhere else. I thought about getting one of those trendy apartments downtown, but the idea of getting to be in a house again was kinda exciting after only seeing one room for so many years.”  


“Yeah, I can tell you’re not super-into the suburban life. Your set-up doesn’t exactly scream ‘home sweet home’.” The house is, indeed, spartan and largely devoid of decorative flare: there’s hardly any knick-knacks around, and no photographs or art on the walls.

Yorkie smiles, but it has a bitter undertone. “I mean, I can’t exactly put photos of my family up.”

Kelly falls silent. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that.”

“So, why exactly are you here?” The words come out sounding harsher than Yorkie intended them to. In her heart of hearts, she wants to cross the space between them on the couch, take Kelly into her arms, and finally put into words exactly how much she means to her, but she feels her external demeanour growing colder as she braces herself for the possibility that Kelly is here to more formally break up with her.

“I wanted to talk about what happened between us last week.” Kelly pauses for a moment, breathing in deeply. Yorkie’s heart sinks in that split second, and she feels certain that her worst fears will soon be confirmed. “Yorkie, I’m so sorry. I said so many things to you that were cruel, and that I didn’t really mean. It’s just that, I’m still dealing with the loss of someone who I loved for decades, and that pain is still so present for me. You don’t know what it’s like to be alone.”

Yorkie grits her teeth. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

Kelly visibly flinches at Yorkie’s response. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Listen, Kelly, if you don’t want to be with me anymore, that’s your choice. But don’t act like you know who I am. And don’t tell me that I don’t understand what love and commitment are, just because you want to feel less guilty about your decision.” Yorkie feels her face getting hotter. She didn’t mean to fight with Kelly again, but what Kelly’s saying is like salt in a very old and gaping wound.

Kelly opens her mouth to reply, but only a soft whimper comes out. She swallows hard and manages to continue. “You’re right, I don’t know who you are. But I want to.” Tears are starting to well up in the corners of Kelly’s eyes, and Yorkie feels her heart soften. “God, Yorkie, just let me touch you. You’re all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.” Kelly reaches over to take Yorkie’s hand in hers, and Yorkie doesn’t pull away. Kelly strokes Yorkie’s knuckles slowly with her thumb as their eyes meet. “I came here to tell you that I love you.”

The words wash over Yorkie with a warmth that feels almost identical to the moment when she felt the sun on her face again for the first time in decades. She suddenly feels a bit vulnerable and exposed, and wants to look away, but forces herself to hold Kelly’s gaze. “I love you too,” she whispers, feeling the weight of the words in her bones. “But I think you already knew that.”

Kelly exhales hard, and looks visibly relieved. She reaches up to stroke Yorkie’s cheek, before running her thumb across the taller girl’s lower lip. “I want to be with you. Not just in what I have left of this lifetime, but in the next, too. When it’s my time, I want to cross over.” She pauses for a second. “And I mean it. I’m serious.” The unspoken statement hangs awkwardly between the two of them: _I may have run out on you after confessing my feelings twice before, but it won’t happen again._

Yorkie hesitates for a moment, barely believing that what’s happening is real, but finally gives in and crosses the space between them. Kelly meets her halfway, pulling her into a slow and tender kiss. As their kisses deepen, Kelly slips her hand under Yorkie’s shirt, just slightly above the waistband of the taller girl’s jean shorts, and strokes the skin there. They eventually break apart, both panting slightly.

Kelly meets Yorkie’s gaze and smiles. “If I had known your place was so beige, I would’ve brought flowers or something.” She glances towards the coffee table by the couch. The words have barely left her mouth before a turquoise vase filled with vibrantly blossoming violets and daisies abruptly appears on the table. Kelly recoils a bit in surprise, clearly not having expected her wish to be granted. “Hey, I didn’t know you’d given me privileges to alter your place.”

Yorkie smiles shyly. “You are my wife, after all.”

A mischievous grin spreads across Kelly’s face, and in the span of only a half-second, Yorkie’s mostly empty and vanilla-coloured living space has suddenly been transformed. The walls are filled with brightly coloured framed paintings, a royal blue Persian rug has appeared in the living room beneath the coffee table, and the harsh overhead lighting somehow seems more soft and gentle. “Sorry, sweetheart, but letting your wife decide how to decorate the place is a critical part of marriage,” Kelly smirks. “Let’s look at your backyard. I want to see if it worked.”

They get up from the couch and wander over to the sliding glass door that leads to Yorkie’s small backyard. The sun has already set, prompting Yorkie to hit the porch lights to illuminate the area. She expects the lights to reveal a cute little garden in the previously empty grass, but instead, there’s an entire pool, complete with reclining beach chairs and a freshly poured pitcher of sangria. Yorkie chuckles softly to herself. “How did you think of all that?”

Kelly shrugs. “They say you shouldn’t get drunk and swim, but none of that matters now, right? Anyway, I thought it might fit with the new persona I’m going to have to adopt here: the boozy housewife temptress who wears a revealing housecoat everywhere. I can’t wait to hear what all your straight-laced neighbours have to say.”

Yorkie smirks. “I don’t want to be the boring husband with a factory job. Can’t I at least be your cute pool boy?”

“Don’t put too much thought into it, because there’s no way I’m living here. You’re moving in with me by the beach. I’m not spending the rest of my afterlife as a fucking Stepford wife.” Kelly tries to play her comment off as a joke, but the nervousness flashing across her face makes it clear that she means to make Yorkie a serious offer.

Yorkie feels her heart flip, but manages to nod vigorously in response. “O-of course. I’d take the ocean over the chlorinated version any day of the week.”

A smile lights up Kelly’s entire face. She reaches over to touch Yorkie’s wrist, and slowly traces her fingertips up the length of her arm. “We may be shacked up newlyweds now, but you know, we haven’t actually _consummated_ our marriage yet…” She leans in towards Yorkie, pressing her cheek against the other girl’s, and whispers into her ear, “I wore something really special tonight under this outfit, just for you. A honeymoon present.”

Yorkie exhales, feeling her entire face redden. She can feel Kelly grinning against her cheek. “Care to show me the bedroom? Maybe it’s better that we’re here and not at mine – I feel like there’s something terribly poetic about getting to fuck you in some mock-up of your adolescent bedroom.” Yorkie pretends to scoff, but she can feel her heart racing at the idea. She takes Kelly’s hand in hers and leads her up the stairs to her bedroom.

It does resemble a teenager’s bedroom: a small stereo next to a collection of Morrissey and Robert Palmer compact cassette singles sits on her wardrobe, while posters of the Go-Gos and Bananarama hang on the walls. Kelly giggles to herself. “God, I feel like I just snuck into a college girl’s dorm. I guess we should get down to it, before the don comes around to check on us.” She grabs Yorkie’s waist and pulls her close. As their lips meet in another kiss, Yorkie is already pulling Kelly’s jacket off and tugging at her tank top, eager to unwrap her honeymoon present. Kelly grins devilishly and helps to take her leggings off, leaving her in nothing but purple lace lingerie.

“Better than a wedding cake?” Kelly purrs. Yorkie can only stammer a response. Kelly takes Yorkie’s hand in hers and guides it gently to the curves of her chest. Their bodies are close enough for Yorkie to feel Kelly shiver as her fingertips caress her above the lingerie. Kelly kisses her again, and Yorkie fumbles to try to find the bra’s clasp as she kisses back. Kelly pulls out of the kiss, smiling sweetly at Yorkie. “Oh, honey, it’s a front clasp. But don’t feel too bad. There are millions of men walking on the face of this earth who never could have gotten this off, and you at least have an excuse.” She takes her bra off for Yorkie, who can’t help but pout a little at her clumsiness and the lost opportunity to undress Kelly herself. Kelly quickly kisses Yorkie’s frowning lower lip, before adding, “Now stop making that face, or I’ll think you’re not happy with what you’re seeing.”

They fall onto the bed together, putting aside all pretense of taking things slowly as they undress one another. Kelly eases Yorkie onto her back and kisses a trail down the taller girl’s stomach. “I thought about you the whole time we were apart.” Kelly whispers, her breath hot against Yorkie’s bare abdomen. “About all the ways I was going to make it up to you.” Yorkie bites down hard on her lower lip as Kelly unzips her jean shorts and kisses her above her underwear.

Pleasure arcs across the whole of Yorkie’s body as Kelly shows her exactly how she plans to apologize. After decades – _forty fucking years_ – of nothing but a strange and disjointed phantom pain, Yorkie is still overwhelmed by her body’s capacity to give her this kind of sensation. Kelly’s mouth is soft and warm against her most sensitive part, and Yorkie struggles to breathe in as she edges closer and closer to climax. Her lungs ache for air as she digs her fingernails into the sheets.

“Stop, stop”, Yorkie gasps, and Kelly immediately obeys, pulling away to rest her head on Yorkie’s stomach.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kelly whispers. “I’ll stop if you really want me to. But let’s try it again. Close your eyes this time and just relax.” She reaches up to squeeze Yorkie’s hand. “I only want to make you feel good.” Yorkie nods and shuts her eyes, trying her best to sink into the bed as Kelly continues. This time, Kelly keeps a tight grip on Yorkie’s hand. It feels so comforting that Yorkie is able to gently ride out the rush of pleasure, sighing Kelly’s name as she hits her peak.

Kelly pulls herself up to snuggle close to Yorkie. They lie together silently for a moment, as Yorkie stares deep into the smaller girl’s cinnamon-coloured eyes. God, Kelly is the most beautiful woman that Yorkie has ever seen. Everything about her, from the soft curves of her body to the way her raven curls tickle Yorkie’s chest when they cuddle, seems like a work of art, like something dreamed up in one of the paintings that Kelly has sprinkled around her house. She has no idea how to express this in words without it falling flat, though. She tries anyways, whispering to Kelly, “Y-you make me happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

Kelly exhales, her eyes seeming glossier from a mixture of tears and desire. “Come here.” She presses herself tightly against Yorkie, so that their bodies are touching at almost every point. Yorkie whimpers at the feeling, of being close enough to sense Kelly’s heart beating against her own and feel the sweat off the other girl’s body. Kelly takes Yorkie’s hand in hers and guides it between her legs, murmuring, “I want to feel you inside me.” Yorkie obliges, moving her fingers inside Kelly in exactly the way that the other girl taught her on that first night together. They’re still pressed tightly enough together that Yorkie can feel it every time Kelly shudders at her touch. “You’re a good student,” Kelly sighs, sounding half-drunk with desire. Yorkie leans in to kiss Kelly’s neck, desperate to touch as much of the other woman’s body as possible. Her mouth is on Kelly’s collarbone when Kelly comes, pressing hard against her.

Kelly curls up against Yorkie’s chest in the afterglow. Yorkie reaches around to tenderly stroke Kelly’s back, but she’s never done it before and immediately wonders if her motions are awkward. “Is this okay?” she whispers.

Kelly chuckles against Yorkie’s heart. “Sweetheart, you just made me come. I don’t think you need to worry about if you’re giving me a backrub the wrong way.” Yorkie smiles and pulls Kelly close against her, as though she can hold her tightly enough that they’ll be too entwined for midnight to be able to take her away. Kelly must be thinking the same thing, as Yorkie feels the warmth of tears against her chest.

“I wish we had a little more time,” Kelly sighs. “I’d take you for a skinny dip in that pool, and really give your neighbours something to talk about.” She reaches up to run her hand through Yorkie’s hair. “You know, I begged Anna – that’s my nurse – to give me a little more time with you tonight. She really wanted to, but she said the government’s been going through the records for this thing like a hawk. Nurses are losing their licenses left and right for giving their patients extra time in San Junipero.” Yorkie feels a twinge of guilt tug at her heart, and silently hopes that any records of Greg bending the rules to help her out have died along with her corporeal body. Kelly scoffs to herself, before continuing, “Can you believe that? I have to beg like a criminal just to try to get fifteen extra minutes with my own wife.” Yorkie’s stomach flips, even then, at Kelly casually referring to her as her wife.

Yorkie is afraid to turn around to look at her bedside clock, but she sees Kelly’s eyes dart to it and knows that their time is almost up. Kelly wipes a tear from Yorkie’s cheek, before whispering, “Someday, we’ll be celebrating our one-hundredth wedding anniversary, and the time you had to wait for me will seem like just a blip.” Yorkie tries to laugh, but it comes out as a half a sob. Kelly kisses her quickly at the corner of her mouth, and murmurs, “Good night, my love. Sleep well.” And with that, Yorkie’s hands fall helplessly onto her bed sheets as Kelly disappears from her arms. She can still smell Kelly’s perfume – a light, citrusy scent – on the pillow, and lies in bed for a moment longer, breathing it in and pretending that Kelly has simply gotten up for a moment to get a glass of water.

Yorkie finally forces herself out of bed, haphazardly tugs her t-shirt and shorts back on, and wanders downstairs to the backyard. She thinks about stripping down and going for a swim, but the thought of it seems joyless without Kelly. Instead, she pours herself a glass of sangria and sits at the side of the pool, letting her feet dip into the water.

She recoils a bit at the taste of the wine – not from the taste of alcohol, but because it’s the one type of drink she’s used to, from years of taking communion after some fire and brimstone rant from her family’s pastor. The pineapple juice softens the taste, though, and encourages her to take another sip. The neon colour and sweetness of the pineapple juice reminds her of Kelly. She smiles to herself as she thinks of how this drink is like the two of them: two very separate tastes that, somehow, were destined to come together in some mysterious tropical paradise and bring out the best in each other.

Yorkie finally gives in and allows herself to cry, her body shuddering with sobs as the emotions she’s been dealing with for the past week seep out all at once. Only a few months ago, she couldn’t feel anything but those lightning jabs of pain. But now, the only sensation that runs over her body like that is love.


End file.
